University of Virginia Library

A veil of mist o'ershadowed my gaze,
And sleep came o'er the chambers of my soul,
And my fix'd eye was death-like, whilst the pall
Of darkness seem'd to curtain me, and light
Faded away in distance, till it grew
Even into shadow. Then a dream of dreams
Rose o'er my phantasy, and I beheld
The great of other days, the glorious crowd,
Sceptred, and those who cast the sceptres down,
The Fabii and the Cato's of old Rome,
The queen of kings and kingdoms and the world.
A deeper darkness pall'd my soul, and light
In the vast world of vision grew distinct,
And I beheld the glorious of all nations,
The great, the mighty 'mong the mightiest!
Columns and busts, and monuments arose
To trophy forth their glories. In the wide
And endless range of beauties, even beyond
The intellectual telescope of mind,
And its unbounded scope and scrutiny,
Cities, and vales, and mountains thickly grew,
Till the tired eye, fatigued forsook its task,
And closed upon their splendors;
But anon—
Over my sleeping vision broke the sound
Of wailing and of misery—I gazed, and saw
One beautiful land of glories, bath'd in blood:
Ruin and horror strode the plough-turned streets
And revel'd in their temples, whilst the arm
Of fierce colossal tyranny drag'd forth
The lovely and the grand—and they became
The vassals of his bounty—the base slaves,
Of all his mean desires, and meaner rule.

A few, the relic of their former soul,
The wreck of greatness, great amid the wreck,
Stood forth and battled for the sacred right,
That, delegate from Heav'n to fill each breast,
Immortal birthright! they could never lose.
The sun had set in heav'n and ris'n again,
And yet the fight prolong'd, proclaim'd how dear
Young freedom was to man. The dripping edge
Unsated with the conflict; and tir'd arm
Grew nerveless with the many toils of war,
But still the fight continued; yet unslack'd
The rage for human blood and human wo,
'Till Death himself was gorged with carcasses,
And loathed the banquet with satiety.
The few who fought had fallen—a glorious death,
Giving unclogg'd and never ending life.
The tyrant was triumphant, and the slaves
Who humbled at his beck, and cringed to serve
And caught the very whispers of his soul,
Ere yet his tongue could syllable his will,
Now shrunk within themselves and sought to quench
The burning brand of memory in tears!
Can this be Rome, and this Italia's shore—
These Romans? sprung from sires, as of old,
Who mock'd the world and bade her regal sway
Circle creations realm and bind the whole?

I turn'd away, and sicken'd at the sight—
But o'er my heart the spirit of gladness fell,
As I beheld the sunny vales of Greece,
Glowing with verdant mantle, and her hills
Crown'd with the happy freemen, by whose arm
The haughty Persian driven, forgot his pomp,
And sought inglorious his own realm again.

Once more the scene was changed, and I beheld
The broken fragments of a monument,
Whereon appear'd the glorious names of those,
Of yore, who scorn'd the life unbought with blood!
Beneath its shelter, from the sun, reclined
A weary man, his children by his side,
A pair of boys, that seemed too fair for slaves;
O'er whom a mother watch'd, within whose eye
Pale apprehension sat. The fathers gaze
Bore much of sorrow, but it was not grief
For long lost glories and the sway of mind,
But for the num'rous stripes his form received:
Base wretch! were there not many ways to die?
He knew not of the names and monuments,
That strewn around his footsteps, ever met
His ling'ring gaze, when no taskmaster near
Urged on his weary limbs, that once were free,
To complete the servile duties of the slave!
Their names he read—but they were names alone,
For no association of that time,
The other, long-past day of Grecian fame
Came o'er the lonely spirit of his musings.

His heart ne'er felt depression, when he saw
Daily beneath the conq'ring arm of Time,
And all his human ministers, inhuman,
Some relic of his country's glory fall!
The lichen grew above the lofty scite
Of former splendor, with its yellow fringe
Mocking the desolation, reigning round!
And he, the slave! curst parent of a race,
As cursed as he with ignominious chains,
That came the only heritage of life,
Except its feeling—say, what doth he here?

Oh! speaking desolation! he surveys
The monumental Pyramids around,
That tyranny could never quite destroy,
And yet he feels not—looks upon his boys
Hears too their artless prattle—of the things
That meet their gaze—and makes them no response:
When words from Greek, upon a spot like this,
Had roused a Grecian spirit in each stone,
To emulate the deeds of former time,
And live again, or die in solid phalanx,
Making each spot a new Thermopylæ.